"Who!" cried I and, dropping my gun, I caught him by his ragged sleeve, whereupon he grinned foolishly, then as suddenly scowled and wrenched free. "Speak, man!" said I in passionate pleading. "Is it Sir Adam Penfeather you mean—Captain Penfeather?"
"Maybe I do an' maybe I don't, so all's one!" said he. "Howsomever, 'tis Jerry I'm arter—my mate Jeremy as went adrift from me—my mate Jerry as could sing so true, but I was the lad to dance!" And here he must needs fall a-dancing in his rags, singing hoarsely:
"Heave-ho, lads, and here's my ditty!
Saw ye e'er in town or city
A lass to kiss so sweet an' pretty
As Bess o' Bednall Green.
"Heave-ho, lads, she's one to please ye
Bess will kiss an' Bess will—"
"Oho, Jerry—Jeremy—ahoy—haul your wind, lad; bear up, Jerry, an' let Dick come 'longside ye, lad—!" and here the poor wretch, from singing and dancing, falls to doleful wailing with gush of tears and bitter sobs.
"Tell me," said I as gently as I might and laying a hand on his hairy shoulder, "who are you—the name of your ship—who was your captain?"
But all I got was a scowl, a sudden buffet of his fist, and away he sped, raising again his hoarse and plaintive cry:
"Ahoy, Jerry—Jeremy, ho!"
And thus, my mind in a ferment, I must needs watch him go, torn at by briars, tripped by unseen obstacles, running and leaping like the poor, mad thing he was.
Long I stood thus in painful perplexity, when I heard a sudden dreadful screaming at no great distance: